


Like Lightning

by ninhursag



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen, Tarsus IV, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-24
Updated: 2010-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage Jim, tattoos, Tarsus, anger. Who knows why, sometimes you just shouldn't ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Lightning

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [star trek](http://vaingirlfic.livejournal.com/tag/star+trek)  
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Jim got his first ink when he was fourteen, armed with one forged permission slip and some scrounged up credits he shouldn't have had. His hands shook a little when he walked in, but that was more because his blood sugar wasn't really stable anymore, not nerves or anything. The guy in the shop didn't want to do it for him, even with the slip, just kind of glared from the place where Jim signed his mom's name back to Jim like he'd caught a twitch in his neck.

"You're awful skinny for this, kid," the man said, giving Jim a suspicious once over. "Everything here is sterile, but if you have any auto-immune issues, this could fuck you up." Well if being skinny was dangerous, the asshole was safe-- he looked like he was a walking tattoo canvas and the last thing the guy could be called was skinny. More like he was using his belly as his calling card.

Jim made a face at him and didn't say any of it out loud, which was diplomacy at its ultimate as far as he was concerned. "I was in space," he said. "Synthesized food sucks. Look, do you want my credits or not?"

The man gave him the hairy eyeball and Jim figured the answer was going to be 'not', but then he shrugged and grabbed Jim's credit chip off his palm. Jim didn't flinch at the inadvertent touch.

"Whatever, it's your funeral, kid," the man muttered. "You got anything mind or would you like to take a look at the flash and pick something out?"

Jim glared at the ceiling. Yeah, right, flash. He dug the paper he'd traced his design onto out of his pocket. The man unfolded the paper and then shrugged. "Lightning bolts, huh?" he scoffed.

Jim rolled his eyes a little harder. "It's Hittite," he said, because duh, obvious. "It's a symbol of Tarku-- he was the god of war and fertility."

The man snickered, his mustache moving with the motion. There was a piece of what looked like cheese caught in it, but Jim didn't mention that. "Fertility, huh? You're awfully ambitious for a kid."

"Haha, you're so funny." Customer service, Jim decided, sucked, but he didn't bother to point that out, just glared. It wasn't like he could go somewhere else where they would maybe call his mom instead of just taking the damned note.

"This'll sting a little, so don't cry or anything," the man said once he finished tracing a pen over Jim's right shoulder.

Jim snorted and stifled a laugh. "I won't," he said. It didn't even hurt, not really, just a shallow aching burn, like getting too much sun.

"So... Tarku the fertility god, huh?" the guy said, and he sounded calmer when he realized Jim wasn't going to squeal like a little kid who'd never had anything bad happen to him. "You into ancient history, kid?"

Jim didn't shrug, but only because moving his shoulder would be a really bad idea. Instead, for reasons he couldn't have explained, he started talking like some old fat guy with a tattoo shop was really interested. "They named a city after him. It used to be a major port in the Mediterranean. St. Paul was born there, did you know that? But, actually, the archeology says it was occupied since practically the neolithic period-- so, as old as civilization. That's pretty incredible, right?"

The guy laughed, but he didn't sound mean about it anymore. "Wow, you're just a boy encyclopedia, ain't ya? You got a data chip whispering secrets in your ear or something?"

"I wish." Jim didn't smile, just sighed and rested his chin on the flat, smooth surface in front of him until the man finally pronounced the work done and started lecturing him on the aftercare. It felt weird-- still didn't hurt, not really, but there was a rush of something in his spine. Something shivery and vital, like he was diving off a cliff. It was good.

"Thanks," he said, craning his neck to get a look at his skin until the guy brought out a mirror and angled it for him. The skin was flushed and inflamed, but he could imagine what it would look like when the swelling went down.

"Tarku, huh?" The man said, while Jim pulled his shirt back on. "That's a funny old name for a city if you ask me."

Jim stared down at the hem of his shirt, winding his fingers into the light cotton and twisting it around. No wonder the guy accused him of being too thin-- he could see the outlines of his bones, strange and light, like he was still starving. "Tarsus," he said and then sighed. "The god's name was Tarku, but the city was Tarsus."

The man blinked at him and then snorted. "Tarsus? Like the colony where they whacked all the freaks to keep everyone from starving? I saw it on the news and it sounds morbid to me."

Jim laughed. It sounded funny even to himself, weird and stiff and loud. Went on too long. But he laughed anyway. "Yeah," he said. The inside of his elbow itched and he scratched at it without really thinking about it. "Morbid. I guess it is."

The man shrugged visibly. "Kids," he said, just as Jim was walking out the door. "Next thing you know you'll be sitting in a graveyard with a fucking Ouija board pretending dead people have advice for you. You gonna think that's funny too?"

Jim didn't even remember turning around, but hey, he must have, because the next thing he knew he was on the counter, he'd bruised his knuckles somehow and the guy's mouth was bleeding. He blinked and ducked, but not fast enough, not before a thick, meaty fist dove into his stomach, driving the breath right out of him. He staggered, gasping for a few seconds before he fell.

"You little son of a bitch!" the man howled. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

Jim laughed through the choking, hands on his gut. "T-too fucking m-morbid, huh?" he stammered out when he had the breath. It didn't hurt though, it didn't hurt at all. The only thing he could feel was the burn in his shoulder where the lightning was drawn on.


End file.
